A Time of War
by BuBuWinter
Summary: (One-shot) In the years past the struggles of Malistaire and the evil of Morganthe, a war is starting to brew. Rowan must find a way to win the numerous battles thrown her way, to lead an army of young wizards whom hardly understand the concept of war. There's one nagging thought in the back of everyone's mind however: just what are they fighting for?


_**AN: I've just been really into one-shots of late I guess. I dunno. I already posted one on here, there's one in the works, and here's another one. I know I have other multi-chapter stories to work on, but then these ideas come up and...productive procrastination. That's all I have to say. Not super-nice writing, but I still like it. Well, the concept anyway. Enjoy!**_

_**Rating: T/Light M for blood, violence, a minor gore scene (maybe; depends on how easily disturbed you are by that stuff I guess), death and language.**_

**A Time of War**

A raging ball of fire roared as it hurled through the air, the sound so deafening it could only be compared to that of a thousand canons firing at once. Rowan pivoted on her heel, spinning and jumping out of its way as the destructive mass of magical energy flew past her, crashing into the empty field behind her and setting it ablaze. She cursed silently under her breath; she hadn't been quick enough. The blaze had caught her at the wrist, the gauntlet looking little more than a contorted piece of obsidian metal, clenching uncomfortably at her skin and burning her to the bone. She would regret not having a fire resistant armor later though; there was a battle to win.

Rowan quickly surveyed the battleground before her, hazel eyes narrowed and calculating as she weighed the odds. The enemy had been prepared for the attack, that much she knew. They outnumbered her men five to one, and were quickly overwhelming them with well-rested wizards and highly trained warriors. There one of her Pyromancers - a young lad who had just been recruited - had been cut down, a sword cleaving through his chest as his unknown spell fell into a pile of stone grey ash. There one of the enemy Theurgists - blood-lust glinting in her golden eyes - had just completed her own spell, three treants springing from the splintered earth beneath her, chucking conveniently-placed rocks at anyone they could lay eyes on. One of the boulders crushed several of her men underneath it, leaving them in motionless piles of crushed bone and bloody skin.

They were woefully unprepared for this bout.

Rowan's brow furrowed in thought, thinking of possible ways she could turn the tide. To her right, Penny Dreadful was fighting ferociously just a few yards ahead. She flung a plume of silvery-white, icy Necromatic fire in the direction of a summoned dragon before pivoting on her heel and ramming the heavy end of her iron staff into the head of its Caster, the sound of his crunching skull heard even at Rowan's distance. The Pyromancer was good as dead. Penny glanced up at the acting commander, caramel colored eyes holding a wild, uncharacteristic light. Blood trailed down the side of her face from a wound on her head, and her armor had been dent in several places, but she proceeded to rush up the hill to Rowan nonetheless, her damaged body carried only by the rush of adrenalin.

"Raisa," she hissed through clenched teeth, leaning heavily on her staff. "We can't win this fight. You're smart, analytical, and a bloody good leader, but we _can't _win!" Rowan didn't respond, not even to fix the slip-up of her being called by her Earthen name. Instead she turned back to the fight.

She was smart.

She was analytical.

She was going to find a way.

Penny glared at her commander in frustrated fury, her hands tightening around her staff. It was pointless to argue with Rowan - even before the war she had been a very stubborn smart-alec. She wanted to argue, for the safety of herself and of her fellow wizard-turned-soldiers, but she couldn't. She had no ground to argue. Rowan - an Earthborn once called Raisa Shalberov - knew more about wars than anyone in the Spiral. She knew how they operated, grew up in them. Penny hadn't even known what such a thing was up unto the point of this war.

Raisa - Rowan - whatever the hell she wanted to be called - at least had some experience, and Penny always feared that, should the acting commander listen to her pleas and run, that it would be the wrong choice. So she just backed slightly away from her and waited for further instruction. Finally, Rowan looked up at her, baby blue eyes reflecting the light of the dancing flames.

"We fight till I say we can't," she said sternly, and without waiting for a response she placed two fingers to her mouth a whistled loudly. From the masses of fighting people and summoned creatures a Nightrunner sprung out from the undergrowth, crushing anyone in his path as he ran up to his awaiting master. By the time he approached Rowan, his hooves were completely covered in blood and bone fragments. Rowan mounted the steed with ease, glancing down at Penny.

"Organize the troops. I want more experienced fighters to work with the less experienced. We need to work more like a wolf pack instead of lone mountain lions." And with that odd metaphor echoing in Penny's ears, Rowan steered her Nightrunner in the direction of the battle and - with sword held tightly in hand - charged down into the masses of people, cleaving her heavy ebony sword through the enemy soldiers like a knife through butter. The Necromancer watched, baffled, but before she could contemplate on just what a mountain lion was she heard the whistle of an arrow flying in her direction, and deflected it with her staff.

Rowan always thought herself as a swordsman rather than a wizard. Fighting with a weapon in hand just seemed more natural to her than flinging bolts of lightning at the enemy and disintegrating them. Of course, the latter of the two was more effective, but swords sung when they sliced through enemies; lightning bolts just blew up.

Suddenly, her stallion reared and fell back, and had Rowan not been the agile warrior she was she would have been crushed under the horse's weight. She leapt off the saddle just as the horse fell back, but in doing so she lost her grip on her sword, the obsidian blade landing a good several feet away from her. She clenched her teeth in anger, jumping to her feet and looking for the enemy who dared to injure her steed.

A couple a feet away was an elderly man dressed in a tattered, dark violet robe, his white beard turned brown and red from dirt and blood. He smiled sinisterly, little sparks of light flickering from his hands.

Rowan prayed to the Titans this was the commander in charge. She needed to win this, and she didn't feel quite so keen on killing a random old man. She looked for any sign of ranking, a badge or weapon of sorts, but there was nothing. _Definitely not the captain. _

Rowan barely had time to dodge as another bolt of purple light flung from his hand, this time in her direction. She half spun, landing in a crouched position and eyeing her sword, which was farther away now that she had dodged the attack. She needed it to win; no matter how much she liked to bluff, she was never a very competent Diviner. Her brow furrowed in thought before she drew a card from a pouch on her belt. _Bluff, Raisa, bluff. _The old man aimed for the card in her hand, though instead of lightning, powerful wind gusts and electrified water droplets burst from one hand. In the other was a crimson card.

_Damnit Raisa, too slow. _The girl dropped her card and crossed her arms in front of her face, the sparking water droplets reflecting off her armor easily enough. Her face burned though, electrical currents surging through her facial muscles whenever the spell slipped past her deflective armor, which was quite a few times.

_Damn Tempest; why is _that _the spell always adapted for personal use?_ Rowan didn't have time to contemplate. This time - instead of simply bluffing - she drew a real card. Unlike most wizards, whom go through with the usual spell-casting tactics - which included an incantation of sorts and a symbol she really didn't have time to make - she simply threw the card in the air, and from her fingertips a small bolt of blue lightning shot through its center. Storm clouds suddenly began to brew, and from the land beneath her feet water seeped through the solid ground, rising and rising until it was well above her knees. The winds began to pick up, and soon it was almost like a hurricane was brewing. The old man's red eyes widened.

"Yes sir, this _is_ a real Tempest now isn't it?" Rowan couldn't help but smirk as the Tempest crashed on top of the man, crushing him under the tremendous force and carrying him downhill to an open field.

Caught up in her spell casting, Rowan was unaware of the the archer behind her as he nocked an arrow, drew, and shot. The arrow embedded itself deep into her shoulder blade, and for a moment her eyes opened wide in shock, then pain as another arrow lodged itself into her lower back. She drew in a sharp breath and fell forward, her world going black as she slipped into the depths of unconsciousness. The last thing she heard was, "Retreat, the commander is down!"

* * *

Penny knew that there were only two instances that Rowan would admit defeat: either she was seriously injured, or if a hundred people died. This battle had both.

The Necromancer watched Rowan helplessly with her one eye. Three days after the battle and the commander had yet to wake from unconsciousness. She wasn't nearly as damaged as some of the other troops (Penny herself had lost an eye after all), but there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind that Rowan wouldn't recover from this loss. Too many people were killed under her command, a command many would deem foolish, including herself. She could handle physical wounds, she could muscle through mental scarring, but Penny had no idea how well the Earthborn could handle emotional trials.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, and turning her head slightly she met Duncan's slate grey gaze. For once the arrogant Necromancer didn't look smug, only defeated, and grieved. Unconsciously Penny wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He gratefully returned her hug, running a calloused hand through her dark chocolate brown hair.

"What are we fighting for..?" She mumbled into the cloth of his robe, her clutch tightening around him as she fought back tears. Duncan pressed his chin to her head, holding her close. He - like Rowan and so many others - had believed that fighting a war was the right thing to regain the once prosperous peace the Spiral had, but after so many losses, so many deaths, was it really worth the struggle? Penny pulled away from him, her one eye looking up at him helplessly as she awaited an answer. "_Why_ are we fighting?"

"I don't know, Pen.." he finally managed to get out. He ran a finger delicately across her bandaged face, feeling the bloody bondage. "I just don't know…"

They didn't speak for a while, instead holding onto each other as they watched Rowan in her unconsciousness, no longer looking like the fearless fighter they knew even before the war had started. It was Penny who pulled away from her fellow Necromancer, walking away from the medical tent and toward a small pond.

She didn't want to watch anymore.

Duncan glanced back at the Earthborn, like he was expecting her to wake any moment. She didn't. He debated on whether or not to stay with Penny. They were never close and had only met once before the war, so they were hardly considered friends, but he had realized that they were both kids, skipping ahead of their teenage years and jumping right into adulthood. War was something that was rarely seen in the Spiral, a thing that hadn't occurred for a thousand years, a thing that few people outside of wizardry even knew the definition of. It was a thing Duncan himself wasn't at all sure he knew about.

The sound of footsteps behind him snapped him from his thoughts, and for a moment he thought that perhaps Penny had come back, but when he turned around he saw it was Rowan's second-in-command, Simeon Firemane. The Pyromancer looked drained, red eyes dull with bags underneath them and black hair askew. His right arm was in a sling.

"How many did we lose?" Duncan dared to ask the Pyromancer. Simeon sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his damaged arm as if it would delay his needing to answer. It didn't, and when he realized this he breathed out:

"About fifty bodies found, twenty unaccounted for and ten in serious condition." Duncan bit his tongue to keep out a slur of insults and curses and prayers. _It's never been that high before! _He wanted to scream that at Simeon, have the captain do a recount, but the words couldn't find a way to leave his lips. _It's not possible! It can't be! _

"I get the feeling Duncan," Simeon murmured sympathetically, quietly, like he could read Duncan's thoughts. "We're too young to be fighting a war; most of us fighting and dying are barely seventeen, if not younger. We don't understand war, we never lived to see one, but _she," _Simeon jerked his head in the direction of Rowan, and spoke so quietly Duncan had to lean in closer to hear him. "Grew up in them. We lost this battle, as she would say, but the war still rages."

"I wish it didn't," Duncan muttered darkly. Simeon didn't respond, just rested his uninjured hand on the Necromancers chest for a moment in an odd gesture of kindness before limping over to Rowan and sitting at her bedside. He watched the two of them for a brief moment before walking away. He needed to make sure Penny wouldn't do anything stupid.

* * *

Rowan stirred, and her eyes slowly blinked opened. Her head hurt like hell, and as much as she wanted to she didn't have the strength or energy to lift her head up. Her vision was blurry, her throat dry, and had she not been the stubborn seventeen year old she was she might have just fallen back asleep. As her sight finally cleared up, she saw Simeon sitting at the foot of her bed. When he noticed her stir he glanced at her, a small, weak smile on his face.

"Hey," he murmured, shifting closer to her side. "How are you feeling?"

She shook her head slightly.

"Not good huh?" Simeon frowned, brushing a few strands of her short midnight black hair out of her face and feeling her forehead. "Want me to get Professor Wu, or one of our Theurgists?"

She shook her head.

"Stubborn brat…" His voice was affectionate, laced with light sarcasm. Rowan wanted to smile, but her muscles - all of them - felt strained, and she swore she could still feel the electrical currents of the Tempest surging through her face. Another person came into her peripheral vision, dressed completely in emerald green robes and wearing a white hood. Simeon nodded in greeting.

"I see she's awake now," the voice was light, rhythmic, but the form of the person was too slender to be Moolinda, and Rowan couldn't remember any other Theurgists at the moment. None that were alive anyway. "Is she in pain?"

Rowan feebly shook her head. Simeon smirked and stroked the side of her face. "A lot, actually, though she says otherwise," he winked at Rowan as he said this, and had she been at full strength she would have slapped him across the face. With her sword.

_Sword… _"Where's my sword?" Her voice sounded just as strained as the rest of her body felt, the raspy tone ringing in her ears. It was almost like she was back in Russia speaking her native tongue. Simeon exchanged a glance with the unnamed Theurgist before responding.

"We lost it back on the field," he said apologetically. "It was either you or that fancy weapon."

"Shit…" Rowan had just enough time to curse before falling back into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Did he break the news to her?" Penny asked Duncan as he approached her, a black and white shadow in her peripheral vision. It had been weeks since their loss, weeks since Rowan had fallen and struggled to get back up. Simeon had scarcely left her side, and she was beginning to wonder when - or if - he told her about the losses. Duncan's arms wrapped around her waist, an act that both of them had been doing since the battle in search for body warmth and protection.

"Yes," her murmured quietly, pressing his forehead to hers. "He told her how many were lost yesterday, and today she demanded who. Susie's death shook her particularly hard; she hasn't left her tent since." Penny frowned, looking at him through tired eyes.

"You miss her too, don't you?"

"Which 'her'?"

"Both."

Duncan sighed, idly playing with a lock of Penny's brown hair. "Susie was a nuisance at best, but a good friend; she was too young to die." Fourteen was far too young to die, and Duncan fought back the urge to cry and curse the Titans for taking her. "And Rowan just needs time. She'll be back."

"How can you be sure?" Penny was never particularly fond of the commander, but she was indebted to her, and as such a small, inexplicable bond had formed between the two. Penny was beginning to feel responsible for the Earthborn's grieving.

"I can't be sure, but Rowan's an extremist patriot; she wouldn't leave a war."

"Unless she no longer feels she's doing what's best for the Spiral."

Duncan had no response for that.

* * *

Rowan was exhausted, mentally, physically, and now emotionally. She curled up in her makeshift bed, hugging her knees to her chest and staring blankly at the tent wall. Her wrist was sore, her back ached day in and day out, and her arm was rendered useless, the arrow striking a nerve in her shoulder. Theurgists said it would get better in due time with Theurgy healing at least twice a week, but it seemed tedious. Unnecessary. She never used that arm anyways.

She felt a few fingers run through her short hair and trail lightly along her neck. _Simeon… _she thought drowsily. The boy was a sweetheart, and she was more than grateful to have him, but it was annoying that he never left her alone. The Pyromancer draped a few blankets over her body, planting a small kiss to her temple before standing and leaving.

God, how things might have been different if it weren't for the stupid war.

Susie would still be alive. Her sword would still be in it's scabbard. Her Nightrunner would still be her favored mount. Simeon would be a proper boyfriend. Penny would have both eyes. Duncan would still be an arrogant asshole. The old man might have died peacefully in his sleep one day. Families wouldn't be torn. Children wouldn't be fighting. Teenagers would still have much to learn before they even thought something at this scale could happen. There would be more reason, more peace, more prosper. Everything would be great if it weren't for the god damn war.

Tears were beginning to stream down her face, streams that would become rivers, drenching her face and her pillow. She sobbed silently, her hand finding its way to her damaged wrist and clawing at the burnt, twisted skin, tearing off bits and pieces and making it bleed onto the blanket.

_Susie. Susie. Susie. Susie. Susie! _She had saved her once upon a time, long ago when the closest thing to war the Spiral knew was a madman driven to revive his dead wife. She had saved her, her brother, helped Duncan, helped Penny, befriended Simeon, then _this _happened. This damned war without any meaning _happened! _What was it about her that attracted so many bad things?

Her wrist was looking more and more like a bloody mass of ripped, decaying skin of a deadman rather than a young seventeen year old girl, who should have been unscathed, flawless. Her tears had stained her face red, and her sobs were steadily becoming louder and louder. Simeon would hear them soon if she didn't shut up.

Damn Susie. Damn damn damn damn _damn! _Why did she have to die? She, a fourteen year old promising young Diviner. She, a girl who didn't know what a war even was only to die in one. She, a girl whose only concern was to help others and protect her older brother. She, _a fucking fourteen year old whose story would go 'once upon a time there lived a girl who died in a needless war'. _

Grief was fully masking the pain of her wrist now, a scarlet mass of pulsing muscle. She had ripped the scar completely off. An icy calmness overcame her, and blindly she stood from her bed and moved over to her desk. Without turning on the light, she grabbed a pen and paper and began to write.

Dear Simeon, I'm done with this war.

* * *

Duncan felt Penny's soft lips press against his cheek. It had been months since Rowan had deserted the army, months since she left a letter for Simeon stating she was done with the war and done with death. She would return to Mooshu to resume her training with Swordsman Wan, and that was it. Simeon now commandeered the army with Duncan as his second in command, Penny in third should one of them fall. The two Necromancers had gotten inseparable since her departure, looking to each other for protection now that the one thing, the one asset to them who had knowledge of warfare, was gone.

Duncan didn't like being so close to her. Yes, her touch was soothing, she was growing increasingly dear to him with each passing day, and she was - dare he say it - a pretty good kisser, but if she fell in battle, he would never forgive himself, and unlike Rowan he had no where to go that would be safe should he break down like she had. Penny wrapped her arms around his waist for a brief moment before letting go and proceeding into the main war tent.

Inside, the seven school professors sat in a circle around a large table, Simeon among them. Penny and Duncan exchanged a glance before settling down at the end of the table. Ambrose nodded in greeting.

"Now that everyone is accounted for, we need to proceed with the meetings. We need to know what to do now that Rowan has deserted us." The old wizard said, looking around and meeting each of them in the eye. Simeon avoided his gaze, his hand clenching into a fist at the Headmaster's dismissive tone. It was Moolinda Wu who spoke first, her voice uncharacteristically dark and filled with hopelessness.

"There have been many losses. Near a hundred here, and reports from Dragonspyre and Marleybone say at least five hundred lost over the course of the month," she stated quietly with a glance at Cyrus. The Conjurer let out a heavy sigh, leaning heavily on the table and rubbing his head with his hands. Duncan took the liberty to remember he was in charge of the forces at Dragonspyre, his silver and navy blue armor showing signs of strain and a long scar trailing down the side of his face and neck.

"We're in no shape to continue fighting like this, Merle," he stated after a few moments of silence, folding his hands on the table and keeping his eyes locked on the ground. "We don't have the manpower or the energy to do so. Kids are going in and _dying_, and for what cause? The war is meaningless, these fights are fruitless! What's the point of it all?" No one could answer the Conjurer's question, so he stood, bowed slightly, and retreated outside without a word. Ambrose and the others exchanged glances as if wondering whether or not the emotionally damaged man should be brought back.

"If I may be so bold as to ask," Penny spoke up, which was hardly the time or place really, but neither was Cyrus's sudden leave. "Why _are _we fighting? Wizards sign up for the army thinking they'll be told what's going on as soon as they do, but they _don't. _Who exactly are we fighting against, and why is it a full blown war?"

Penny was always good at asking questions, and with the influence Rowan had on her when they were roommates she was beginning to get good at finding the answers. Duncan couldn't help but smirk, noting that Simeon was nodding in agreement. Dalia Falmea frowned and closed her eyes. Halston was pacing along the side of the table, deep in thought and letting out low croaking noises. Lydia and Ambrose both exchanged glances with each other before the latter of them, coming to a decision, spoke.

"Allow me to start from the beginning then. You deserve to know who we're dealing with at least. About a thousand years ago, before and during the building of Ravenwood, the Spiral was always at war, wars that are very similar to that of Earth, only on a much, much larger scale. It was during these times of turmoil that an organization revolving around honor and harmony was formed, a group of powerful Thaumaturges called the Guardians. They fought for the greater good, fighting and protecting the lesser people and standing their ground against those who dared stomp on the smaller man. In Earthen terms, they could be considered a rebellion, a rebellion against war.

"However, as much as they valued peace, they grew too accustomed to fighting and it soon became a way of life for them. When the Last Great War ended, the Spiral entered a great era of peace and prosperity. The Guardians knew little of what to do with their lives now that their cause has ultimately been defeated, and they soon perished one by one. About a year ago, however, seven of the Guardians - known as the Onore Custodi, the leaders of the organization - were revived by an unknown magical force deep in the heart of Grizzleheim. They could not remember or accept the fact the Spiral was at peace. They gradually, with extreme precision and patience, went to each world and rallied their own forces, influencing their followers to go against the governments of the worlds. That, my friends, lead to this unfortunate and deadly war."

There was nothing but an icy silence in the room. Duncan felt a shiver course through him. In his first years at Ravenwood, when he briefly studied Thaumaturgy before switching to Divination, he had learned about the Guardians. They were honorable, true, but it was the twisted kind you would often find in tales of orcs and goblins. If you looked past the obvious good they did in their time, they were quite imposing and terrifying. Simeon sighed and suddenly stood from his chair.

"Well then," he said, his face contorted in a mixture of bitterness and decision. "If it's them we're going aginst, there's work to be done." The new commander walked out of the tent as he spoke, and exchanging a glance Duncan and Penny quickly followed him.

_War was war_, Rowan had once said, the words ringing in Penny's ears, _and it's not won till the kings falls._ Penny hardly understood the phrase when she first heard it, but now - in the middle if a war for the first time in centuries - she knew it was true.

By the time this war ended, kings will have fallen_._

_**AN: Okay, I have a question for you guys: would you like to see this put into a full-on multi-chapter story? I'm personally very fond of the idea of an Earthborn human who's used to hearing about war and getting sucked into a magical place of unicorns and hippogriffs and'll probably write it either way (there are a few loose-ends anyways, things I can't stand in one-shots). I want to see what YOU think though. Yay or nay?**_


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